The Glass Ceiling
by Her Royal Nonsense
Summary: After a violent FBI raid is broadcast to millions across the United States, Sarah Williams' job and reputation is on the line. She decides to keep quiet while taking it upon herself to hunt down and arrest a sadistic and vengeful serial killer. J/S
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**; After a violent FBI raid is broadcasted to millions across the United States, Sarah Williams' job and reputation is at stake. She decides to keep quiet while taking it upon herself to hunt down and arrest a violently sadistic and vengeful serial killer. Jareth, on the other hand, takes it upon *himself* to keep her out of trouble.

**Disclaimer**; I don't own anything but the characters whose names you probably won't recognize.

_the glass ceiling; "the unseen, yet unbreachable barrier that keeps minorities and women from rising to the upper rungs of the corporate ladder, regardless of their qualifications or achievements." _

_**24 September, 2002; 23:34**_

_**Outskirts of Seattle, Washington**_

An aggregation of police vehicles rode up the dirt path to the compound, their lights turned off so as not to tip its inhabitants of their impending doom. The heavily armed guards at the entrance of the property had been subdued by a composite raid team of FBI and Immigrations and Customs Enforcement SWAT teams, as well as several agents of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, who had arrived not ten minutes earlier. They stood around one of their vehicles, presumably placing incredibly last minute touches on their action plan before breaking into the compound. Local Police Chief Robert Romero was the first to park his car behind a dirty and battered white panel van used for FBI undercover operations. He hastily, and with what was perhaps an overly confident march, approached the circle of no-nonsense agents. "You must be Williams," the overweight, yeasty man interrupted the woman who was rattling off a list of what and what not to do if one were to find themselves alone with the assailant. Special Agent Sarah Williams was not often missed or mistaken for anyone else.

She turned to him, a slightly irritated look plastered across her otherwise soft and graceful features. "And you are?"

"Robert Romero, I'm the-"

"Right. I'm afraid there is no time for formalities at the moment, Mr. Romero," she quipped, readily dismissing the man. Turning back to the agents, she continued her spiel. "Sven and Belinda will likely be together. They will likely be armed. They both had handguns last time, but Sven is known to enjoy his shotguns – particularly his KS-23. There might have children in there, and they are not above using them as hostages – or the girls for that matter, especially to protect themselves or each other. In the circumstance that there _are_ children, you will want to get them out of the fray as soon as possible. They probably will not speak English, so take care to be sensitive to them. We will take every precaution to capture Sven and Belinda alive – they have a whole lot of knowledge about these human trafficking rings, and we wish to obtain that, clear?" A collective agreement among the group left no room for argument. "Alright, we want to get to the lower levels of the compound as quickly, and as quietly as possible."

Williams ordered everyone to their position while she and Todd Alway, the SSA of the Immigrations and Customs Enforcement approached the hatch which would lead them directly to Sven and Belinda's private quarters. It would typically serve as an escape for the criminal couple, but not tonight. Williams glanced behind her for a brief moment, scowling at the police chief who was walking around the north of the compound. "I will never understand it. Mayor is caught with his pants down below a prostitute and on every single damn raid he sends these guys over to take the credit."

"Well, I suppose he's gotta appear tough on crime somehow."

"Positions, everyone?" She murmured over the walkie-talkie and a quarter-minute later, enthusiastically squeaked a "go, go, go!"

Swinging open the hatch, the officers descended the short staircase into a long, bare hallway. Its long-apparent misuse manifested itself through the layers upon layers of cob-webs housing skeletons of mice and rats that were years, if not a decades old and the rodents were of no shortage themselves. At the end of the hallway was a single door, but another hatch on the ceiling, only noticeable on account of the small flashlights docked upon their weapons, and the agents raced towards it quietly.

"We're going to have to kick it in."

"There will probably be some kind of wardrobe or something to hide it on the other side," Sarah suggested, matter-of-factly.

Todd nodded. "Alright, ready?"

"Yes."

It took a few tries, but they finally tore it down and were in the middle of Batkin's private quarters. It was a luxurious room adorned in deep red satins and frisky zebra prints. Apart from the bear skin rug, there was not yet a single soul in the bedroom. Williams approached the second door, one that vaguely reminded her of the French doors in her father and step-mother's bedroom. Their backs were pressed against the wall as they nodded and flung it open.

"Freeze! FBI!"

Complete silence infiltrated the typically obscenely rowdy basement. On all accounts it looked very much like a Gentlemen's Club. If it weren't for the children and women whom the FBI discovered to have been trafficked from Russia as cargo, it could easily have passed as one. Now it was merely a nest of underground sex crimes. The place smelt of sex; had Agent Williams been a little less desensitized to such odours she would have wretched. "Hands behind your head, Batkin."

"That must be Sarah Williams," drawled a handsome man with sandy-blonde hair and a thick Russian accent, dressed in an expensive black suit. He turned around, revealing to the agent a young girl, no older than six, trapped in his arms. Dark circles surrounded her deadened brown eyes and bore into Sarah's.

"Put down the girl, Sven. Hands behind your head," she warned, keeping her gun trained in line with his head. "I mean it!"

"As do I, Sarah. Walk away,"

"Sven, do not do this."

It was surprisingly calm as each party wordlessly weighed their options, until several shots broke out in an adjacent room, subsequently followed by high-pitched shrieks. Belinda Batkin took that moment to fire at Agent Williams, hitting her bullet-proof vest right below the left breast. The impact of the shot stung badly and forced Sarah to the ground, but she retaliated, pulling the trigger of her own Glock 22 to penetrate Belinda square between her eyes. Several other men – and there were at least thirty 'johns' seated at various tables and at the bar, fired their own weapons at the various federal agents around the room; Todd took one to the chest while two others on her team were shot in the shoulder and arm. She fired back, hitting them both before noticing Sven Batkin was frantically high-tailing it out the hot zone.

Williams approached the little girl who sat huddled on the ground, covering her head with her arms to protect herself. "Can you understand me?" She asked, but when the girl gave no response she moved the girl's body so she was laying flat on the ground. "Ben, get her out of here!" Sarah yelled before taking off after Sven. She managed to catch up with the madman and followed him through a labyrinth of privacy booths and locked rooms, hugging the walls closely while occasionally getting a shot in. He turned a corner up ahead and effectively managed to lose her. Sarah pushed open several of the doors and kicked through the rest; one in particular caused the seasoned agent to pause in shock. Two young girls, who could have very well been twins, laid handcuffed and bloodied on a twin bed. "Christ," she whispered with a strangled sob, hastily approaching the girls to check for a pulse. As she approached them, the extent of their injuries became unbearably blunt. Their skirts were up, and their little legs were as pale as the moon, marred with an array of black and purple bruises and swollen red cuts. Their faces were the same and their eyes were still open, glaring at her as if they were broken porcelain dolls. Although Sarah knew well enough not to taper with a crime scene, she couldn't stop her hand as it reached up to close each of their eyes and brush their curly blonde hair from their faces.

_You son of a fucking bitch._

Williams pulled herself to her feet and turned around, only to come face-to-face with her assailant, the barrel of his handgun lined neatly with her forehead. Time seemed to slow and her moment of weakness hindered her capacity to use her usually tip-top reflexes. She stood there, dumbly and speechless. "I'm going to make you suffer, Agent Williams," he said, too calmly, too matter-of-factly with that sleek Russian accent. It was that moment which ended the chase and what seemed to Sarah like a flood of fire pierced her thigh and she gripped her leg as it flared to life with a sharp and vicious pain. "But not today. No, I have something much better in store for you." He turned around and stalked out just as he heard several other agents catch up.

Williams was resolved not to give in and she used every last bit of willpower to keep from falling. Instead, she limped after him, unloading every last bullet in her clip in his direction. A strained hiss suggested that she might have hit something, but when she hobbled around the corner there was nothing but a few drops of blood and a bullet-ridden wall.

* * *

><p>It was exactly thirteen hours later when Sarah woke to an unrelenting pounding within her head. Groaning, she cautiously opened her eyes to look about the dimly lit medical ward she was sadly all-too-familiar with. A multitude of tubes and wires were attached to her, and they strained and bit at her skin as she levelled herself up to a seating position. She tried to swing her legs to the side, only to have a flash of pain tear up her heavily bandaged left thigh. Taking a deep breath, Sarah disengaged herself from the wires and tubes that held her prisoner, just as Dr. Jacobs strolled in, notebook in hand.<p>

"Nice to see you awake, Williams. How are you feeling?"

Wincing, she answered truthfully. "I have been better, doc. Can I go now?"

"I'd prefer it if you stayed here overnight."

Sarah shook her head, "you know I absolutely hate anything even remotely resembling a hospital. I am alright, really."

"Sarah."

"Dr. Jacobs, seriously, I feel fine."

He sighed, knowing full well arguing with the woman was nothing more than an exercise in futility. "Well, you got lucky kid. It was a pretty clean shot, missed the femoral vein by a mile. If it hit that you'd be dead as a doorknob," Sarah snorted at the cheesy metaphor, "I'll give you some oral antibiotics for the pain, try to avoid any heavy labour for a while, eh? And you'll need to use those crutches for at least a week."

"Got it."

"And Williams?"

Sarah turned around just as a nurse materialized from the hall to help her up. "Get some rest."

"Right."

* * *

><p>The raid, as she suspected, had not gone over well with either the top Bureau officials, nor the Justice Department or any of the media outlets. First and foremost, Sven Batkin was still at large. Injured, but considering the ease of his flight it was suspected to be a mere flesh wound. Two federal agents were killed, including Todd Alway and another from the Bureau. A local officer died as well in the crossfire. Belinda Batkin and two male 'customers' didn't make it through the night either, as didn't one woman identified as Militza Anastas – a pretty girl who had been promised a career as a model in America, only to be enslaved as a prostitute and forcibly addicted to crack cocaine in a madmen's den.<p>

And then there were the twins, the little girls who never made it to the news.

It made Sarah Williams sick. Everything made her sick.

She laid haphazardly across a delicate white chaise lounge placed in front of her fireplace, a glass of rum balancing on its arm as her own raised the phone to her ear. "Hello Linda," she greeted blankly. Yes, Linda would have certainly given a damn that the rum was two shakes of a lamb's tail away from falling and ruining the lounge. Sarah, on the other hand, couldn't care less.

"Finally! I've been trying to reach you for days! Are you alright, honey?"

"I'm fine."

"The news says you were hurt," she said with a sympathy Sarah could never entirely bring herself to trust.

She paused, biting her lip to consider her answer. "It was just a flesh wound."

"Listen, honey, Jeremy's brother is coming up this weekend to stay with us, why don't you come as well? You need to get out of Seattle for once."

"I dunno Linda, I have got... things coming up-" Truth be told, she merely didn't want to face the hoards of reporters and journalists that seemed to flock towards her every time she took a step off her own property.

"Nonsense. You can take a plane and I'll send you a private driver to take you here from the airport. We have much to talk about. Have you seen your father?"

"Yes, everyone came down yesterday."

"Oh good. I will see you Friday night then, yes?"

"Linda..."

"Sarah. Please."

Sarah sighed before giving in, "fine."

* * *

><p><em>Shit, Friday night came far sooner than I hoped it would,<em> Sarah thought to herself as the SUV pulled up in front of Linda and Jeremy's lakeside manor home. It was a large and elaborately unnecessary display that clearly said to everyone who drove by 'I'm wiping my ass with $100 bills', just as previous house did and the one before that. Sarah herself was by no means hurting for cash, but her tastes ran a tad plainer and she was never one to splurge flamboyantly. Her door opened and the arms that reached in ripped her from her train of thought as her driver helped her to her feet and pulled her crutches out of the back. "Here, why don't you let me help you to the front door?"

"That's not really necessary, thank you." _I'm not an invalid._ "Would you mind if I had your business card?"

"Of course not, ma'am," he said, pulling one from his wallet to hand to her. "You be careful now."

"Thank you," she said as she gripped the bars of her crutches. She turned around, glaring at the home before she began the long hobble towards the front door. It seemed as if the moment she reached out to knock on the door, a handsome gentleman who too closely resembled her stepfather opened it.

"You must be Sarah," he drawled in a deep baritone as the smirk plastered across his features took her slightly aback.

"And you must be Jeremy's brother... uh... you will have to excuse me, Linda never told me your name..."

"My name is Jareth," he said simply, stepping back to allow her to bring her crutches over the threshold. He shut the door behind her. "It must be much cooler in Washington than it is here."

Sarah looked down, noticing she still had a light military jacket on. "A bit, yes."

"Ah, there she is!"A high-pitched squeal came from Linda, who crossed the panty to awkwardly embrace her daughter. "Are you alright, honey?"

"I am fine."

"Alright, well the caterer already has the food out, and I'm sure you're starving so what do you say we eat?"

"Sounds wonderful," Jareth said, his hand on Sarah's elbow so as to aid her to the dining room table. She bit her lip to prevent herself from rejecting the help, determined not to make this night as hostile as dinner nights with mom had the capacity to be.

"Thank you."

Jareth helped Sarah into her seat, taking the crutches from her before taking his own seat between his mortal girlfriend Estella Jackson and Linda. He had met Estella through Linda, she was a glamorous and delicately stunning beauty who ate salads and talked of hairstyles and weight management. Like Linda, the woman was an actress. B-list, as 'Hollywood' would say, but still famous enough to demand a private chauffer and to be catered and waited on hand and foot. His brother and Linda, who had married not ten years ago, fell into the same lifestyle with extraordinary ease. He strongly suspected he would as well. It seemed to work well for Jeremy.

It didn't come to much of a surprise to Jareth that the insufferable Sarah Williams didn't recognize him from a dream or two she had over a decade and a half ago. She certainly did not maintain the mannerisms of that spoiled, selfish little brat that defeated his Labyrinth and rejected his love. This Sarah, as he strongly suspected from the various news reports Linda had been whining about for the past forty-eight hours, was hardened and collected. Seasoned and incorruptible. Quiet, yet she had an air about her that strongly suggested she despised superficiality. Brave – well, he had to hand it to her, she had always been that.

_Oh for heaven's sake man, stop your gushing. You know nothing of this brat who tossed you aside. She doesn't deserve an inkling of your praise or admiration._

Save for Estella's soft bragging, it was relatively quiet as the odd grouping retrieved their food. Jeremy said grace and everyone bowed their heads in respect. Jareth, who found the human practise of religion to be futile and childish did not, and as he looked around the table, he noticed that Sarah apparently felt similar. Sensing someone's gaze on her she looked in Jareth's direction and they held each other's eyes through the short speech before she awkwardly turned away, reaching behind her to tighten her ponytail.

"So, how's school going, kid?" Sarah asked her half-brother Armand, the most adult-looking teenager she ever laid eyes upon.

"Good. I actually wanted to talk to you about something, I was going to call you last week but... other things happened. I'm in a senior year psychology class and I have decided to do my research project on forensic psychology and criminal profiling. I was wondering if perhaps I could interview you for some primary research on the topic," the raven-haired, well-spoken boy asked, delicately cutting a piece of steak.

"Of course."

Linda finished chewing a piece of lettuce before she piped in, "I don't know what it is that interests you guys about that stuff, serial killers and whatnot. It'll give you nightmares."

Armand's girlfriend, a pretty little extrovert called Molly joined the conversation. "Armand's following the foot-steps of his big sis," she laughed, elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs.

"Nothing wrong with that," Jeremy said. While in her youth Sarah always held an inkling of resentment towards Jeremy for coming in between her parents, he actually became a great source of support and kindness in her adulthood and they had grown closer over the years, just as she and her father grew apart. Perhaps it was because Karen was tough and never quite accepting of her bratty step-daughter, while Jeremy was pretty easy-going. Sarah shot him a look of appreciation and he winked back at her.

"It's far too dangerous, if you ask me. I have to suffer enough with one child getting shot every couple of years; I don't want to have to worry about two."

_Oh boy, here we go. _Deciding to avert the subject as seamlessly as possible, Sarah turned to her mother who sat opposite her. "I heard you have a new movie coming out, Linda."

"I thought you didn't keep up with my career, dear."

Sarah shrugged, considering it was true, she really didn't. "It was just something I heard," she sighed, popping a piece of steak into her mouth.

"Well, I've certainly been keeping up with yours."

_And there it is. God damn it, she better not go there in front of everyone._

"Who hasn't?" Quipped Molly light-heartedly, earning a 'look' from Armand.

"Alright, Linda, what do you have for me?" Sarah asked, her face a picture-perfect image of composure. She put down her fork and rested her back against the chair, crossing her arms.

"Did you know my new movie is about police brutality?"

That made Sarah pause, giving her a moment to come up with a level-headed response. She settled on a simple, "I am an investigator Linda, not a cop."

"No, but you have a gun and you are a federal agent."

"And?"

"Haven't you seen the news recently?"

"I never watch the news," Sarah answered nonchalantly. She couldn't believe her mother was going to bring this up in front of guests.

"Yeah, well everyone else does. The whole damn thing was filmed, Sarah. It was filmed and sent to every single news station that averages over 100,000 viewers. EVERYONE saw you shoot and kill three people! It was on national television, for Christsakes! Do you know what this does for my reputation? Do you have any idea what this has done? I just said during an interview I was in favour of stricter gun control! And then a couple days later my daughter shoots three people! Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" Linda all but screamed and began to weep right on the spot.

"Linda!" Jeremy piped out, rising to his feet as Sarah began to seethe and become beat-red. "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this. Your daughter is sitting there with a bullet lodged into her thigh and all you can think about is your reputation?"

"It was hardly on national television, mother," Sarah spat bitterly at her mother, as if she hadn't heard her stepfather try to extinguish the flames. "It was filmed and distributed by a man on his camera phone. That same man is now sitting in a jail cell for paying two grand to fuck a five-year old. That same five-year old was ripped from her mother's arms, brought into America as cargo two months ago and now probably has HIV. Do not EVER give me that bullshit on how my work effects your reputation. You can never understand what it is I see every. fucking. day." With that, Sarah hastily got to her feet and plucked her crutches from against the wall. She didn't use them though; she couldn't allow herself to put her vulnerability on display so she merely held them under one arm as she stormed out of the dining room (although she did stop to bend down and whisper something to her half-brother) on the way out. Sarah had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering out in pain as immense pressure was placed on her injured leg.

Sarah only allowed herself to stop when she got to the end of the driveway and she hurriedly rummaged through her purse for her phone, tears beginning to sting the back of her eyes. _It's not here... it's not here... how could I have left it in the house? I never took it out!_

"Looking for this?" A cool voice rang out behind her and she turned around, her feet fumbling slightly as Jareth walked into her view. He must have been right behind her. "I've called you a taxi, my dear" he said simply, holding out the Blackberry for her to take.

"Thanks," she said, blinking her eyes and swallowing so as to keep her composure.

"You're welcome," he said, looking down at her thigh before he glanced back up to catch her eye. "That was wrong of your mother to say. I am very sorry that happened, Sarah."

"Me too," she replied softly, looking downwards as she waited anxiously for the cab. She just wanted to high-tail it out of here so badly. She felt completely and utterly humiliated.

"May I see it?"

"See what?"

"The wound on your leg. It has opened again from you placing pressure on it."

"I'm fine," she bit out, hiding it rather well as the pain suddenly began flaring again.

Jareth rolled his eyes, placing his fingertips on the skin surrounding the impact point. Sarah was too shocked he would even try to touch her to speak, but what shocked her even more than he seemed to know where exactly it hit. The wound suddenly began to feel warm and her jaw almost dropped to the ground as the pain faded into a dull throb before disappearing quickly. "What... how..."

As if by magic and pristine timing, the cab drove up and parked right in front of them.

"How did you- what just happened..."

Jareth opened the cab's back passenger door and all but forced the girl in, doing up her seatbelt as she stared, dumbfounded. "Who the hell are you?"

"I promise we'll be in touch, see you around love," he finished with a smirk before shutting the door, watching as the cab disappeared into the night.

* * *

><p>AN; Thanks for reading. Please let me know of any typos, grammar mistakes or inconsistancies. I've read this over twice but I'd imagine I haven't caught everything. :)


	2. Chapter 2

_First of all, I'd like to send kisses in the general direction of UndergroundDaydreams and MikkiANNE for being fluffy wee sweethearts and giving this thing a chance. Secondly, well, there really isn't a secondly. I hope the second chapter doesn't disappoint. :)_

* * *

><p>Each step was evenly paced and announced as Sarah let herself into a spacious but cluttered office, lit only by a half-dozen computer monitors and a projector that displayed a rather grotesque set of crime scene photographs. Curiously she approached the screen to read the accompanying newspaper clipping, but was stopped-midstride as a deep voice laced with a heavy Brooklyn accent called out from behind her.<p>

"Well, well, look who finally decided to get her ass back to Virginia for a change..."

"I knew you were missing me, Vic," a playful smirk crossed her face as she smoothed out the front of her fitted white pant suit before turning around - just as the lights turned on and began to softly hum.

An older gentleman with stark black hair that had just begun to grey at the sides sat at the large work desk in the centre of the room, poured over case files and computer screens. His rough and toughened hands, which a palm reader would predict have been through the worse, were folded carefully in front of him and a smoking cancer stick was trapped between two calloused fingers. Vic Vendetti was the Agent-in-Charge of the Behavioural Science Unit of the FBI. He had been Sarah's direct supervisor up until two years ago, when she'd been promoted to a relatively more prestigious position in the Hostile Rescue Team and had re-located to Washington. Too busy focusing on advancing her career to make many friends; she instead developed close confidantes within her teachers and mentors. Vic was one of them.

"How you doin', toots?" He asked as he crushed his cigarette butt in an ashtray and got to his feet to tightly embrace his former student.

Sarah returned the embrace with just as much vigour as he had shown her before responding with a vague and impassive, "eh, I've been better."

Furrowing his brow, the man gestured dramatically towards Sarah's leg. "What's going on here, I heard you were shot... why aren't you limping around like a dead donkey's dick?"

Snorting at the crude metaphor, Sarah merely waved away the speculation, unwilling to tread anywhere near that territory. She spent the past two nights contemplating how in all bloody hell she didn't even have the faintest trace of a scar to show for her injury. "Just a flesh wound, I'll survive."

"Alright, I'll buy that I suppose. How'd your night go with your mother?" He asked, gesturing for her to sit on an old barstool opposite his desk as he did the same.

"Oh, God," she began, crossing her legs daintily before briefly glancing back at the projector behind her. "She was not too happy with me, I can tell you that."

"Of course not."

"I honestly cannot tell you for the life of me why we're not estranged yet. She called me out right smack dab in the middle of dinner in front of her entirely bloody family."

Vic starred at her, confused. "What does she have to call you out on?"

"Apparently she keeps up with me more than I keep up with her. She also apparently didn't miss that mess I made at the Batkin compound."

"You did your job exactly by the book."

"I got suspended," she argued matter-of-factly.

"Listen toots, I don't know who the fuck you pissed off, but I've been telling you for years you really got under somebody's nerves. They've been dying for an opportunity to let you go. It has nothing to do with last week, and it has everything to do with them finding any excuse to get rid of you. All this fuckin' media coverage has made it easy for them to do it without looking like wankers." Sarah released a wistful sigh, whether she was truly at fault for the botched raid or not, there was very little that could be said or done to make her feel better about it. She certainly appreciated the effort, though.

"Anyway, I've got something better for you. It'll be off the record, but this is right up your alley."

She was nearly certain it had to do with the images projected on the screen behind her. "I'm listening."

"What do you know about the Crypt Keeper?"

"Well, whoever named him is certainly running out of either ideas or creativity, I haven't decided," she joked half-heartedly.

"Apart from that."

Sarah leaned back, crossing her arms, "he buries his victims."

"He buries them in a tempered glass capsule. He then sets it a long wooden box or coffin as the media says, nails the box shut, lowers it into the ground and sets a layer of dirt and concrete over it for good measure," Vic pushed the case file across the desk towards her,

"All the victims were female, right?"

"Yes."

"How were they found?"

"He sends letters the Seattle Police Department the night after they were buried. No prints on any of them."

"He's careful," Sarah observed, pulling a loose photograph from the file. It was similar to the images displayed on the projector. A young woman, beautiful in death as she would have been in life, laid atop a small pile of blankets. Despite her wild hair and pale, terrified complexion, the only evidence of a struggle was at her fingertips, which were bloodied and torn from clawing at her prison for hours. Sarah tucked the photograph in and ran a slender hand through her dark hair, "these murders weren't random," she continued, although she was sure he already knew all of what she had to say. "He put a great deal of time and effort into making sure they suffered. Pre-mature burials are one of the most widespread of human fears. He wanted them to be afraid because they meant _something _to him. He also made damn sure they had no chance of survival. That kind of effort... using both the glass and the wood for additional re-enforcement... that kind of effort isn't made for just anyone. Without some sort of oxygen supply being made available to them, and if they'd been struggling and panicking, they would be dead after one, maybe two hours at most."

"He's out for revenge."

"Well, that is certainly what it looks like. Recording it and sending it to the SPD is... showing off. He has a history with that PD in particular, or someone in it."

Vic nodded before leaning forward. "I want you working on this case. Those losers at SPD haven't solved a murder by themselves in years. I need one of my guys – or girls – to give them a shove in the right direction."

Sarah closed the case file abruptly and looked at him. "I heard there was a survivor."

"Yeah, that's where it gets weird. When she stumbled into the police department, the MO was spot on with every single detail. She led officers to the crime scene. They found the video tape, and dug up the empty coffin."

Sarah cocked an eyebrow, "and?"

Vic shrugged speechlessly before leaning back again and resting his hands on the back of his head. "We've got a clear shot of her on the videotape, her hair, prints, and blood was found everywhere inside the glass. The only piece that breaks the pattern is that she wasn't in it."

"Was anything moved when officers arrived at the crime scene?"

"Nadda. We can't explain it, and she's not talking. I was hoping you could help with that – feminine intuition and whatnot. I've never seen anything like it and shit, I've seen a lot."

"I think I might have an idea," she said, recalling how her thigh miraculously became healed. "Anyway, what's her name?"

"Lilith Lieberman, I can get you her contact information and we'll get you set up with an office tomorrow. Something larger than that broom closet they gave you back in D.C."

"That would be fantastic Vic, thanks."

"Nothing of it. I'm glad to have you back, toots."

* * *

><p>"Have a good day, Agent Williams," winked the receptionist as Sarah neared the entrance. She was a heavy-set woman, an extroverted lady who had been working the front desk at the Behavioural Science unit for over ten years and Sarah knew her well. "Try to come see us more than once a year, eh?"<p>

"Ah, Sally, I'm not going anywhere this week."

"Vic putting you to work?"

Sarah shook her head in mock disapproval, "I stop in for a visit and I walk out with this thing," she gestured to the case file, which was at least one and a half inches thick.

"You know the big man. He likes to make sure no one is ever board."

"That I do. Anyway, I have to head out, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night."

Pushing open the front entrance, it took Sarah a moment for her eyes to adjust to the natural light, having been in the dark basement offices for a considerable portion of the day. However, she froze in her tracks as her eyes gazed over the slender blonde figure seated with her head slightly bowed at the bench.

_That looks like..._

"Ms Lieberman?" Sarah asked rather hesitantly. The girl lifted her head; her eyes appeared dark and distant. The dramatic arch of her eyebrows and the bluish hue of her make-up reminded Sarah of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Ms Lieberman, my name is Sarah Williams, may I speak with you?" The woman nodded, and Sarah tucked her case file in her bag before taking a seat next to her and crossing her legs. Sarah found it slightly odd that the girl was here, and not at the police station. "Who were you here to see, Ms Lieberman? Perhaps I could help you find them?"

Silence.

"Is there anything I can get you? Help you with?"

Again, the girl gave no response.

It was times like these that made Sarah more and more aware that offering condolences and words of comfort was never precisely her forte. Socially, she was stunted and awkward and despite the various training courses she had been through that preached how to deal with victims, it was never something that came naturally to her. "Ms Lieberman," she began carefully, knowing she was quite possibly walking on egg shells. "Just so you are aware, I am one of the agents who have been assigned to your case. I'm going to need your cooperation if I'm going find whoever did this to you."

After asking a handful more questions that went unanswered save for the odd grumble here and there that might have vaguely been a 'go away', Sarah sighed as she caught the hint that the girl had no interest in speaking to her, at least for the time being. Regrettably she excused herself and all but high-tailed it out of there, handing Lilith her card should she desire to speak to someone.

* * *

><p>Sarah Williams' home office was perhaps one of the blandest rooms in her humble abode, yet it was in her office where she spent most of her downtime. The focal piece of the room, a work station with a birch and white veneer stood awkwardly in the middle, next to a black swivel chair which was twice the price of it. A 'hello kitty' notebook she'd absentmindedly snatched from someone else's office a few weeks back, a Bill Clinton bobble-head doll, , a pair of tweezers and an empty McDonalds coffee cup were among the only artefacts that suggested the occupant of this office was still, well, occupying it. Or even had a pulse, really. There were no pictures of happy family members in cheap photo frames on the desk. No witty or clever 'hang in there, baby' motivational posters lined the walls. Her Panasonic Toughbook's desktop background remained just as it was when she purchased it eight months ago. There wasn't even a gel pen in the pen tray that wasn't black, red, or blue and the FBI Shield of Bravery she had received a few years back for participating extensively in the capture of one of the FBI's 'Ten Most Wanted Fugitives' remained humbly tucked away and nearly forgotten in one of the cabinet drawers.<p>

Sarah paced anxiously in front of her telephone. She had been through the FBI's files on Ms. Lieberman at least three times already, and nothing seemed to make any shred of sense. Lieberman's miraculous escape from certain doom was just as unexplainable as her flawless left thigh. As much as she had no desire to contact either Jeremy or Jeremy's better-looking brother what's-his-face at the moment, what with the disaster of a dinner that happened just a few days ago, she couldn't stop pushing away a nagging feeling that he quite possibly had an answer for her.

_Or some explaining to do..._

Scoffing, she reached down to retrieve the wireless telephone, hastily and with an unnecessarily amount of aggression, punching in the numbers of Jeremy and Linda's home phone. Much to her dismay, it was Linda who picked up.

"Sarah?" a soft, feminine voice rang from the speaker.

"I need to speak to Jeremy for a moment, please."

"Listen, Sarah, I'm sorry about the other night. I was just-"

"I would rather not talk about it," she interjected sternly, "I need to speak to Jeremy. It's important."

Despite the fact that Linda had never been particularly close to her daughter since she was a little girl, there were certainly facets of the girls personality that Linda knew of very well. When Sarah would 'rather not talk about it', then no discussion of it was going to be had. Linda resigned with an elaborate sigh before placing the phone on the marble end table and calling her husband to it.

Again, Sarah paced the length of the room before Jeremy's voice greeted her with an overly casual 'what's up'. "Listen, about the other night, don't take it-"

"It's fine. Listen, uh, there's something I wanted to ask you,"

"Shoot."

"Your brother, uh, Jared?"

"Jareth," he corrected, although he couldn't hide his amusement at the mistake and lightly chucked.

"Right. There is actually something I wanted to speak to him about, a new case I am currently working on in particular. Would you be able to give me his number, or perhaps ask him to give me a call? I would certainly appreciate it."

"I'm sure he could meet you tonight if you ask him nicely."

Sarah froze, glancing up at the black and silver clock in her office. _What the hell is that supposed to mean? _"Um... what? He could meet me tonight where exactly?"

"Washington."

Shaking her head, Sarah quickly waved off the odd and slightly unnerving suggestion. "I'm not asking him to take a six hour flight here; I just need to talk to him for a few minutes."

"I'm afraid Jareth does not own a phone," Jeremy responded cryptically.

"Wha-"

"Well, he's already said he'd be there. Play nice now, Sarah. Goodnight."

Sarah glared speechlessly at the phone moments after her step-father hung up on her. "Well, alright then," she whispered, gingerly placing the telephone in the receiver not a moment before the doorbell rang. Sarah didn't realize she had been holding her breath as she crept towards the front foyer cautiously, _no, it couldn't be..._

A relieved sigh escaped her lips when she noticed through the glass paneling an older, burly gentleman in a beige uniform with a box and clipboard. "Hi there, are you Sarah Williams?" He asked kindly as she opened the screen.

"I am," she said, taking the proffered pen to sign her name on the crisp white sheet he handed to her.

"This here is for you then, darlin'."

Taking the package, Sarah nodded her thanks to the UPS worker as she lazily backed into the door to push it shut. Satisfied with her marginal efforts, she stalked into the kitchen to retrieve a knife. Not a moment later the package she had attempted to balance under her arm met with the laminate flooring as she registered the mop of blonde hair that could easily double as a lion's mane, and the devilish, sly smirk plastered across his face.

"You," she scowled, evidently taking issue with his intrusion.

"Good evening, Sarah."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading and again, if you caught any errors please let me know s'il vous plait. <em>


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